


pitch black, pale blue

by loeyside



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: First Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Killua Zoldyck Loves Gon Freecs, Killua Zoldyck Needs a Hug, M/M, Monologue, Pining Killua Zoldyck, Potentially OOC, author projecting onto killua zoldyck, i wrote this as a vent and now i regret it, no beta we die like men, selfless killua zoldyck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loeyside/pseuds/loeyside
Summary: There's things about Gon that Killua can't even begin to fathom.(Or: how love makes Killua as restless as he is alive.)
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75





	pitch black, pale blue

**Author's Note:**

> so,,, um. i wrote this all in one go, which I've heard before isn't exactly a good thing. i usually ask my sister to proofread my stuff but this came out more as a vent than a story, so. also, i've just started the show but i am not even >close< to being sorry for projecting on killugon all the time. killua loves selflessly and i can dreadfully relate to that. please bear with me on this hhh
> 
> title is from neptune by sleeping at last.

**_i wanna love you but i don't know how_ **

There are some things about Gon that Killua can’t even begin to fathom. 

There’s the orange, sunset-like maze hidden within his eyes, pupils always wide and astounded even when directed to the simplest of things, like the way birds dash athwart the sky, or how rain turns the streetlights into blobs of watercolor on the wet highways, or how people love and are loved and the world’s always spinning. There’s the way those eyes swallow Killua whole at the most unexpected of times — they read through his lies, through the uncertainty of his hands and the defensiveness of his glare, and they _know._

(They know his flaws and faults and sins; they know each and every shredded piece of his heart, but not for once pity him for it.) 

There’s the way Gon’s gaze strips Killua bare, exposed, and filled to the brim with such genuine, overwhelming fondness it becomes hard for him to breathe. There’s the weight of his words and the steady embrace of his voice that is nonetheless gentle, such that lures Killua in and deep into Gon’s ocean of a heart and urges him never to emerge. 

(And so, incapable of ever defying him, Killua _drowns_.)

There’s the warmth on his fingertips when they dance and dwell over Killua’s skin- down to his knuckles, up to his jaw, across his waist. There’s the warmth of his smile when it blossoms on to his lips, still inviting despite the redness of the skin pulled out in a habit old yet nevertheless charming. There’s the warmth of his voice—

_Killua, Killua, Killua_

—when he calls for Killua, steadfast and certain as though the only words he has come to know are narrowed to Killua’s name. Perhaps that and those other three; the ones that haunt Killua in his sleep and slam against his skull hard enough to be engraved onto his mind, clearer than his fears and exceedingly scarier. 

(The first Gon time had proffered them, on a lazy Saturday morning with the sea chanting its sorrow behind their backs, Killua’s heart sunk to his feet. 

_Get lost,_ he bit back as if to run away, impossibly terrified of acknowledging just how _badly_ he wanted to mutter them back, to have Gon know how much he mattered, how needed he was because Killua was never once taught to let people in his broken cage of a heart. 

But Gon still did, because he didn’t mind.

And Gon still beamed, because he knew.)

There’s the way Gon wears his heart on his sleeve and loves every tiny bit of life that ever dares to cross his path, no matter how broken, much less how lost. There’s the way he’s unafraid of letting people into his life, of showing how much love fits inside a heart perhaps too big for his tiny body, because Gon has never seen transparency as something to fear, for all the good it did him to be so otherworldly, somewhat endearingly stubborn. 

There’s the way Killua feels like he doesn’t need to lie around him. 

There’s the way he rips Killua’s heart open and pours out every last drop of despair that threatens to overflow his senses whenever a night is too dark, or a day is too long, or his head is crowded by thoughts so intrusive they feel detached from his body. There’s the way he listens, waits, and holds Killua close— so impossibly, _overwhelmingly_ close Killua doesn’t feel whole if together with anyone else. There’s the way he breathes:

In, then out; inhale, then exhale. There’s the way he cups Killua’s cheeks and glues their foreheads so orange-sunsets are smothering moonlight-blues and speaks in a low, silvery voice that sends Killua’s heart soaring and grounds him all the same. 

_You’re okay,_ he soothes, calloused hands wrapped around shaky wrists, then up to slender fingers, clammy and trembling and weak. _You’re here. You’re with me._

There’s the way he makes Killua feel like himself and yet, so out of his mind it could kill him. 

There’s the way he tells Killua it’s okay to love other people; that he’s free now, that his heart doesn’t belong to anyone but himself and it’s okay to hand over his feelings, to fall in love, to decide on a future beyond their joint hands and the prospect of unraveling all the world’s greatest mysteries. There’s the way Gon says, “ _It’s okay if you don’t want this._ ” 

As if Killua can ever find himself wanting anything else.

There’s the way he makes Killua feel so small, but still so unbelievably infinite. Gon has always belonged to the world, to the crevices of forbidden caves and lands and the challenges that come with being born undaunted, and Killua has always belonged to his side, wherever that is. Wherever that takes him. Whatever that incites.

He ends right where Gon starts and, even if the latter decides on dedicating his heart entirely to someone else, perhaps more worthy, that fact itself will never change. 

Because above anything else, there’s the piercing, undeniable truth that slithers and wraps itself around Killua’s heart and smothers the love out of it until it disintegrates: in the end, no matter how far they part, for Killua, it will always have to be Gon. 

There’s no one else his heart would willingly open to—

—there can never be anyone else but _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> .......well. that was... something? please love people wholeheartedly but let yourself be loved as well  
> thanks for reading!


End file.
